


Harming

by echo_of_words



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (there is minimal comfort in chapter 2), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Dream Smp, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Minecraft Mechanics, Suicide Attempt, exile arc, however most of this is just angst so be prepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28008279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echo_of_words/pseuds/echo_of_words
Summary: "It's not your time to die yet, Tommy," Dream says softly, pushing him away from the edge and along the path, away from the portal. "Come on. You should go back.""It's never my time to die," Tommy mutters bitterly, reluctantly taking a few steps in the direction of Logstedshire.Never is.Tommy takes one step too far.Who knew Ghostbur's brewing stand was so easy to use?
Relationships: Tubbo & Tommyinnit
Comments: 125
Kudos: 551
Collections: Cute MCYT, Found family to make me feel something





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> guess who got into mcyt? new hyperfixation go brrrr-- i felt like writing some tommy angst for the current arc, since i love his character a lot and uh. pain. yeah. enjoy/suffer (but PLEASE heed the warnings)  
> DISCLAIMER: This is _not_ RPF. I am writing about the SMP characters, not the people themselves.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Suicide attempt, self-destructive and depressive thoughts, description of feelings towards manipulative SMP!Dream, past major character death  
> (if you need me to tag anything else, just let me know and I will add it)

"Tommy." Tommy jumps slightly at the hand suddenly placed on his shoulder, jerking away from the touch and turning to face Dream.

"What." It's not really a question; he doesn't have the energy to make his sentences sound like they're supposed to. He doesn't care anymore.

The eyes of the dauntless smile on Dream's mask seem to bore into him, staring right into his soul. He doesn't like the mask very much; never has liked it. It's... unsettling.

"It's not your time to die yet, Tommy," Dream says softly, pushing him away from the edge and along the path, away from the portal. "Come on. You should go back."

"It's never my time to die," Tommy mutters bitterly, reluctantly taking a few steps in the direction of Logstedshire. _Never is._

 _And yet_ , as they walk back to Logsted, Tommy thinks, he still seems to die an awful lot considering that fact.

Briefly, the words _It was never meant to be_ and the image of an obsidian chamber deep underground flash through his mind. He bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head to get rid of the thought. _Not thinking about that now_.

_The press of a button, the click of a piston, a slash of a sword piercing through him—_

_NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT NOW._

_Already weak from poison, a single arrow piercing his chest, a burst of unbearable pain—_

He stops walking and screws his eyes shut, his hands balling into fists at his sides. _STOP IT SHUT UP SHUT UP STOP—_

"Tommy?" another voice says, much quieter than Dream's was, and much gentler, too. "Are you okay?" It's Wilbur – Ghostbur –, floating next to him on the path, a look of concern in his pale eyes. "You look... not too happy right now."

"I'm fine, Wilbur," Tommy lies, looking away, forcing his voice not to shake. "I'm just... tired."

Wilbur doesn't seem convinced, but Dream sharply calls "come on!" over his shoulder, and Tommy is saved from actually having to give a proper answer. He looks back at Sapnap, who, previously having been trudging behind them in an apparent attempt to keep as much distance from Dream as possible, seems to have stopped to allow Tommy and Wilbur some privacy. Sapnap gives him a sympathetic look, but shrugs and mimes pushing Tommy along the path, indicating that they should keep walking.

Tommy takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, closing his eyes briefly before starting to walk again. _I'm fine._

Maybe if he tells himself that enough times, he will be.

(In his heart, he knows he won't.)

(He lets himself pretend.)

* * *

Tommy isn't fine.

He knows that. He does. He knows that he should probably talk to someone. Even if that someone is Ghostbur. Someone – _anyone_ – has to be capable of helping him, right?

And yet, the only person who shows up is Dream.

It's always Dream.

Dream, who wanted him exiled. Dream, who threatened his and his friends' lives and freedom over one stupid case of arson. Dream, who escorted him to Logsted in the first place. Dream, who keeps taking his things. Dream, who refuses to let Tommy go _home_.

...

Dream, who comes to talk to him every day. Dream, who helped him prepare the beach party. Dream, who sticks up for Tommy. Dream, who pushed him away from the edge. Dream, who helped him build the path to Logsted. Dream, who let Tommy keep his armour. Dream, who was the only one to show up to the beach party. Dream, who helped him realise that the people in L'Manberg don't need him anymore.

Dream, who is his friend.

(?)

* * *

Tommy stares at the brewing stand. It's standing in Ghostbur's house, peacefully smoking away with the supply of blaze powder Ghostbur's left in it. The water in the glass bottles bubbles and froths, the Nether Wart already added to it having turned it into a deep blue liquid with a honey-like consistency.

The Awkward Potions seem to almost be calling to him.

He, and reaches into his pocket. The slimy, horrible thing he hastily stuffed into it a few days ago when Ghostbur saw him digging around in their pile of barrels and asked what he was doing is still there, and Tommy's just glad Wilbur didn't see what he was doing, because that'd make this whole thing a lot more complicated.

Currently, he's not sure where Ghostbur is. He hasn't shown up in Logsted since the night before the beach party.

 _Probably decided he doesn't care about me anymore_ , Tommy thinks bitterly. _Just like everyone else. Reckon he's at hom—_

_In L—_

_In that place._

He refuses to think its name. It doesn't deserve that respect from him anymore. It's a shell of what it used to be. A prop of the glory of the first Revolutionary War. A device for Tubbo to—

Tommy sharply inhales. _Tubbo._

Briefly, he considers what Tubbo would think of what he's doing right now, his mind flashing to the compass still safely hidden in his Enderchest.

The day of the failed beach party, Dream told Tommy that Tubbo had burned his compass. Tommy wanted to burn his own compass, too, but ended up being unable to let it go as he held it over the Nether's endless lava-filled abyss.

He bitterly snorts at himself. _Sentimental._

_Weak._

Dream would say he's weak.

When did he start caring so much about what Dream thinks?

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. He's on a mission, and he has to complete it before Ghostbur does decide to come back. (The fact that Dream might not entirely approve of this mission doesn't cross his mind, or rather, he refuses to let it do so. He's made a decsion, and he's going to go through with it, because Tommy never goes back on his decisions.)

He drops the spider eye into the brewing stand and watches it dissolve, the goo trickling down into the Awkward Potions and mixing with them to turn the liquid a deep green. The smoke rising off the surface of the potions is a sickly yellowish-green colour, and Tommy tries not to gag as he inhales some of it, the foul smell permeating throughout the little house.

He rushes over to the window and throws it open, trying to wave the smoke out of the window and, for the first time, desperately hopes Ghostbur doesn't return too soon.

(Can ghosts smell? He doesn't know.)

(Well, he'll find out soon enough. One way or another.)

He returns to the brewing stand and opens the chest standing next to it, rummaging through it and finding a cardboard smaller box labelled "Fermented Spider Eyes" in Wilbur's handwriting. (Ghosts can write. Huh.) Tommy takes out one of the eyes, decidedly avoiding looking at it too closely, because if spider eyes are disgusting, fermented ones are on a whole other level. The little box doesn't exactly smell great, either – Tommy knows Wilbur has it to make his Invisibility potions, but the combination of rotting spider, sugar and mushroom is somehow even worse than the smell coming from the potion right now.

He adds the eye to the potion, it, too, dissolving into goo and mixing with the potions to turn them a deep red, so dark it's almost black. The greenish smoke and foul odor are gone, and the potion's surface is completely smooth and glassy. It ripples as Tommy empties one of Wilbur's glass vials of glowstone dust into the brewing stand, completing the final step for the potion. He refuses to let himself think about what he's doing; if he considers this too much, he'll end up not going through with it, and the shame of that would be too much to deal with, especially now that he'd have to deal with getting rid of the evidence of... this.

Tommy takes a deep breath and notes that the potion now seems to smell somewhat of cherries. _Weird._

He gathers up the glass bottles and carefully seals them shut with three of the stoppers lying around haphazardly on the counter next to the brewing stand, now feeling slightly dizzy. The reality of what he's actually just done is settling in, and weighing on him like he's wearing a Netherite chestplate, except with none of the safety and all of the weight.

He stumbles back and falls into the chair in the corner of the little house, jostling the bottles in his arms so they clink together loudly. He... he just did that.

_I just did that._

_Holy shit._

He stares at the three bottles in his lap, shifting his grip on them so they're openly leaning against his hands.

 _It's not too late to just dump these_ , a little voice in the back of his mind says. _Forget all this ever happened, and try to move on with life._

But that's not really an option, is it? What "life" is there to move on with anymore? He's alone. Completely and utterly alone. (Dream doesn't count. He never has.)

And yet sometimes, Tommy feels like Dream is his friend. And that notion scares him more than anything else does. Knowing that he's capable of thinking Dream – _Dream_ – a friend...

Tommy feels like he's standing on the edge of an endless abyss. Seconds, millimeters away from the drop.

It'd be so easy to trip. To stumble. To end up dangling over the edge, swinging dangerously from a thin thread that's about to break—

Tommy screws his eyes shut. He feels sick.

—and there'll be nothing to stop him from falling, falling into the endless void of nothingness and infinity and—

He opens his eyes, staring at the bottles in his hands.

_It's now or never, really._

But he's a coward, isn't he? Actually going through with this... It's something he could never hope to achieve. Never. Someone braver might be able, but Tommy? Tommy is weak.

He's always been weak, hasn't he?

His grip tightens around the bottle. _Weak._

_Can't even do one thing, one stupid simple—_

Tommy bites his lip. Well, he's got the potions here.

_I suppose there's no point in waiting._

He's started shaking in earnest now. _I'm doing this._ He sets down two of the bottles on the floor next to the chair. They clink against each other as he shakily deposits them, nearly knocking one of them over.

Tommy looks at the third bottle in his hand, sizing it up. _Probably about three swallows._ The glass feels cold against his hands, and he barely manages to take out the stopper with how jittery his hands now feel.

For some reason, words said to him long, _long_ ago pop into his mind.

_A hand on his shoulder, worried eyes, a firm voice. "Tommy, calm."_

Tommy shudders. Why's he thinking of Wilbur right now?

_A hand on his shoulder again, this time with Wilbur standing in front of him. "I can see it in your eyes, I can hear it in your voice. TommyInnit, you're scared. You're trying to sound like you know what you're doing—"_

_STOP._ Tommy screws his eyes shut. _I'm not scared anymore. Get out of my head, Wilbur._

He takes the stopper out of the bottle. _This is the right thing to do._

He closes his eyes briefly. _It's not like anyone will miss me._

He opens his eyes again.

_Cheers._

And as the crushing feeling in his chest gets so heavy that he thinks he's going to suffocate and the static and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears rise to a crescendo, he raises the bottle to his lips and takes a sip.

The first thing Tommy learns is that Potions of Harming taste like cherries.

The second thing he learns is _pain_.

Of course, this isn't the first time he's been in pain – he's fought in wars, drank poison, been exploded, been _shot_ —but still, the pain he feels in that moment barely compares to anything he's experienced before. He doubles over, feeling like his whole body is on fire. It tears through him, every part of him screaming as he falls to the ground, and he barely just has the foresight to curl around the bottle so it doesn't smash as he writhes on the ground. Some of the potion slops out of the bottle and onto the ground, and he hisses as it trickles onto his fingers, feeling like acid on his skin.

Then, it abruptly dims, fading away to a dull pounding in his whole body, and his vision swims with tears of pain as he opens his eyes again, pushing the bottle upright so it's standing next to him on the ground.

_What the hell._

He swallows. _That was... bad._

And yet somewhere, deep down, it feels cathartic to him. Like maybe, _maybe_ he deserves this pain.

Tommy sits up. He's still shaking, but it's not as bad anymore. His mind feels blank.

He picks up the bottle and takes a large gulp, nearly draining it, and sets the bottle back down. At once, the pain erupts in him once again, somehow worse than before. He hears screaming, and it's several seconds before he distantly realises that the sound is coming from _him_. He's curled up on the ground, hugging his knees as tight as he can, vision blurred as tears spill out of his eyes and down his cheeks, dripping onto the cold wooden floor, and he's going to die, this is going to kill him, this is it, it's over, and—

And then, as the pain _finally_ starts to ebb away, Tommy becomes aware of the feeling of hands on his shoulder, shaking him. At once, a feeling of dread blooms in the pit of his stomach, and is then quickly replaced by some sort of twisted relief, because _Dream found out, Dream is here, Dream is going to help me and—_

And then he manages to look up, and registers that the person is _not_ Dream; and then he becomes aware of the tearful-sounding voice frantically talking to him, saying his name, and—

It finally clicks, and his eyes widen and he's too weak to sit up or say any of the things he _wants_ to say, but he manages to opens his mouth to force out one word, his voice cracked and shaking with disbelief.

" _Tubbo?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yeah i know i'm mean for leaving it there. let me know if y'all want a continuation of this ig?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO UH HOW WE ALL FEELING AFTER THE END OF THE DRISTA STREAM? i'm terrified what's gonna happen on tonight's stream but i decided i want to post this first in case i end up like... predicting the events of the SMP (which i think is unlikely but still it might happen so i wanna get my ideas out there first), so i slightly speedran this
> 
> Anyways - thank you all so much for the feedback on the first chapter!! I never expected this many people to read and enjoy my fic, and I'm glad y'all liked it (even if it did involve a lot of suffering)  
> Also, [@sisroks](https://sisroks.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr made [this incredible art](https://sisroks.tumblr.com/post/637370350109425664) of the first chapter and I feel so honoured to have inspired them to make it, please go check it out!!

Tubbo's pacing round and round the marketplace in L'Manberg, watching the little needle on his compass spin every time he turns a corner. He's hardly been doing anything else ever since a new one showed up on his bedside table in the form of a wristwatch, a note reading _don't lose this one_ lying next to it. He stared at it in disbelief, then put on the watch, and hasn't taken it off since. (He figures it must've come from Wilbur – after all, the _Your Tommy_ carving underneath the glass is in his handwriting – but still, the fact that he hasn't talked to Ghostbur in a while now unsettles him.)

Other people have noticed Tubbo's restlessness, of course – the amount of times Fundy's asked him whether he's okay is becoming rather concerning, actually. But Tubbo's just waved him off every time, telling him he's fine before continuing to pace.

He still can't believe he let the first compass get blown up. It was a mistake – a horrible accident that he doesn't think he's ever going to forgive himself for. But he does know that he's going to guard this one with his life – if the first compass was his most precious possession on the server, this is another step above that.

Whenever he thinks about it too hard, he wants to just stop caring, sink to the floor and cry.

But he doesn't. He just keeps on pacing.

"Oi, Tubbo!" He stops at the sound of Quackity's familiar voice ringing across the marketplace and looks up. His Secretary of State—no, Vice President now—is strolling towards him on the path from Philza's house, an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

"What?" Tubbo asks apprehensively.

"You look like shit," Quackity tells him.

Tubbo frowns at him. _Straight to the point._ "So?"

" _So_ , I think you should fucking do something about it! You're—you're just fuckin' walking around here, like, all the time! You gotta do something with yourself!"

Tubbo hesitates, skeptical. "Like what?"

"You should..." Quackity trails off, evidently thinking. "Y'know what, Tubbo? I think you should go visit Tommy. He's all alone, out there in the middle of fucking nowhere, and I think he should get a bit of company 'n shit, y'know?"

Tubbo stares at him. There's a creeping suspicion in the back of this mind that despite his serious manner, Quackity is trying to play some sort of practical joke.

"That... doesn't sound like the best idea, Big Q," he says carefully.

"Why not? He's—come on, I know you miss him. You've been walking around with that compass all fuckin' day, man. I'm sure he misses you, too."

"Why don't you just go visit him yourself?" Tubbo asks, deliberately avoiding Quackity's statement.

"Dude." Quackity looks Tubbo straight in the eyes. Tubbo has the urge to look away; when Quackity's being serious, he's actually kind of intimidating sometimes. "Tommy wants to see _you_. _You're_ the one who he's got matching fucking compasses with. Remember that bandana he always wore? Because of you? I bet he's still got that. I fuckin' bet. You're his best friend, not me. I know you two miss each other."

Tubbo can't say he's not tempted. He also can't say he hasn't thought about this himself; thought about going to visit Tommy in his new home – Logsted, he thinks—no, who's he kidding, _knows_ it's called – and...

And what? What would happen? What would Tommy think if Tubbo just showed up? What would he say? Would he be happy to see him? Would he stare in disbelief before running to throw his arms around Tubbo, babbling that he's missed him so much and that he might not be able forgive him yet, but he's so glad to see him again and never wants him to leave?

Or would he stare in shock for a second before his eyes fill with anger, yelling at Tubbo to leave, tell him to go away and never come back, that he's betrayed him and _fucked up_ and they're never going to be friends again?

He doesn't know, and that's what scares him. That's what's been keeping him from going.

But... maybe Quackity's right? Maybe he _does_ need to go see him. What if Tommy's... _oh god._ Unbidden images rise into Tubbo's mind; images of Tommy wounded, Tommy crying, Tommy alone, Tommy suffering, Tommy _dying_ —

"—hey, hey, Tubbo? You okay? Tubbo?" He's abruptly brought back to Earth at the sound of Quackity calling his name.

"I—yeah, sorry, Big Q, spaced out for a bit," he mumbles. "I—yeah. I'm fine." He clears his throat and looks Quackity full in the face. "I'm... I'm going to visit Tommy." _Just to make sure he's okay_ , he tells himself. _Just to make sure he's not..._

Quackity's face breaks into a grin. "Hell yeah! Knew you'd come around. Go on, dude, go visit him. Say hi from me to him."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks, Big Q." Tubbo manages a small smile, although there's not much real emotion behind it – he's too worried about Tommy to be able to think of much else now.

"Anytime, dude." Quackity claps him on the back and walks away in the direction he came from. Tubbo, however, turns and walks in the opposite direction, down the path and towards the Nether portal.

When he reaches it, he hesitates for a second. Is he _sure_ this is a good idea? How will he know he's going to be able to find it?

...Who's he kidding? He knows the path to Logsted is there; he's walked down it before, late at night when everyone else was sleeping, and stared at the purple void of the portal to Tommy's new hom—no, _place of residence_ ; his home is in L'Manberg, still—wondering what would happen if he entered it.

(Well, he'll find out soon enough. He didn't find out then, but he will now. He's determined to do so.)

Tubbo steps through the portal and shivers despite the blazing heat of the Nether that he instantly feels. _I'm really doing this._

He starts walking, directing his steps down the obsidian–cobblestone path. A zombified Piglin is standing on the path, staring at him, and he shivers again, almost _feeling_ its undead eyes following him as he walks past.

The journey through the Nether is short and sweltering, and by the time he reaches the Logsted portal, he's fairly certain he's feeling more nervous than he's ever had in his life.

He takes one last deep breath of the horrible, oppressing-feeling air, and steps through the portal.

When he feels himself reappear on the other side, the first thing he registers is the sound of screaming.

Panic shoots through him. _He knows that voice._

Before he can even start to consider _why_ Tommy would be screaming in what sounds like terrible agony, his body has already started to move, move faster than he thinks he's ever moved in his life. He pelts towards the sound, through the arch of the doorway of the little space enclosed in stripped logs, barely registering the sign reading _Logstedshire_ next to the entrance. Tubbo nearly trips over his own feet as he bursts through the little house of light blue terracotta and wood that the screaming is so obviously coming from, half-expecting to find somebody in there with Tommy torturing him, barely having the conscious thought to draw his sword as he basically falls into the little house.

The sight that greets him there makes his heart _drop_. Instead of another person, doing god-knows-what horrible thing to his friend, he finds Tommy, alone, curled up on the ground, cringing into himself and still letting out those horrible pained screams.

Tubbo's sword clatters to the ground forgotten as he dashes to Tommy's side, basically throwing himself onto the ground with the speed he falls to his knees. As he does so, he nearly knocks over a little glass container that he recognises as a potion bottle, largely empty but for a small amount of some sort of reddish-black liquid.

"Tommy!"

Tommy doesn't react. Tubbo hesitates for a moment, then grabs Tommy's shoulder and starts shaking him, unable to stop tears from brimming in his eyes. "Tommy? Tommy, please, _Tommy_ , talk to me, what's wrong—"

His eyes fall on the potion bottle again, on the dregs of potion inside it, and it _clicks_ and his eyes widen in horror as he realises what exactly that potion must be.

" _Tommy!_ "

The screaming stops, and Tubbo feels a spike of relief mixed with dread, because this either means that Tommy's better, or it means that he's—

He pushes away the thoughts – _surely not,_ surely _not_ – and shakes him again. "Tommy, talk to me, please, _please_ , Tommy—"

 _Finally_ , Tommy moves and manages to look up at Tubbo, teartracks on his cheeks, looking so pained, so sad, so _broken_ that Tubbo thinks his heart cracks almost in two.

There's a moment of silence where they just stare at each other. Tubbo wants to say everything and nothing at once, but there's a lump in his throat that's preventing him from saying even a single word.

" _Tubbo?_ " Tommy croaks out.

* * *

"Why, Tommy?" Tubbo's voice is small and scared, and Tommy has to look away. Waves of guilt and shame are washing over him, and he can't bring himself to speak.

If Tommy were stronger, he'd be angry at Tubbo. Spit at him to go away. To not pretend. That he knows why. That this is his fault.

But he can't. He's not strong. He's not strong, and the weight of what he's just—what he _nearly_ just did—feels like it's crushing him, making it impossible to breathe, the empty void inside him threatening to swallow him whole.

"Tommy, breathe," Tubbo tells him, his voice less shaky now and more commanding, although Tommy thinks he can sense a false calm. "Tommy, please—" He breaks off, and himself takes an audible deep breath.

When Tubbo speaks again, his voice is steady, and Tommy finds himself clinging to it, clinging to the sound of his voice as if it's the last thing keeping him afloat in an ocean of emptiness and despair.

"Tommy, breathe with me. Is it okay if I touch you?" Wordlessly, Tommy nods, still unable to form proper words, and lets himself get pulled into Tubbo's lap, his arms settling around Tommy's waist. As they do, it strikes him how much smaller Tubbo is than him, and it almost makes him want to start crying again.

"In and out. Come on. In—two, three, four, out—two, three, four. In—two, three, four, out—two, three, four." Tommy has no idea how long they sit there on the floor, both staring up at the ceiling. After a while, he becomes conscious of something hard digging into his chest, and he looks down at Tubbo's wrist. He's wearing... a wristwatch? No, it's—

The rush of different emotions as Tommy realises what it is is overwhelming, and he twists around in Tubbo's lap, burying his face in his best friend's chest and muffling a sob. It's the compass, of course it's the compass, the compass whose red needle is pointing directly at him. He can't read it from here, but he knows the inscription under the glass reads _Your Tommy_. After all, he's still got an identical green-needled one, buried deep in his Enderchest, with the inscription reading _Your Tubbo_ in Wilbur's handwriting.

God, _Wilbur._ What would Wilbur think of him now?

"You okay?" Tubbo asks quietly, adjusting his hold on Tommy to accommodate the shift in position. "I mean—no," he corrects himself. "You're—you're not, you're _not_ okay. You're not. You—" He stops and pauses for a second. Tommy doesn't move, simply curling his hands into the fabric of Tubbo's shirt and feeling his chest rising and falling as he breathes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers that Tubbo's not wearing the suit he's been wearing ever since he was made President, and is instead clad in a regular green sweater. It's soft, and as Tommy breathes in again, it smells like... like home.

"What happened, Tommy?" Tubbo's voice is quiet and full of concern and hurt. "What—what _happened_?"

Tommy doesn't want to speak, at first. Doesn't want to admit to the shame, the suffering, the weeks of crying and sadness and _despair_.

But then it sinks in that this is Tubbo, _Tubbo_ , who he's been thinking about and wanting to see and _missing_ for _weeks_ , and his resolve crumbles.

And then it's all spilling out. He's telling Tubbo about everything; telling him about Ghostbur, about Lads on Tour, about Technoblade's visit, about the beach party; about Dream, visiting him every day just to take his things, to torture him, to manipulate him, to—to be his friend, to be nice to him, to— He stops himself. He's not quite ready to confront his exact feelings about Dream yet.

So instead, he tells Tubbo about standing at the edge of the lava more times than he can count, and then finally deciding that it was enough; about finding the potion recipe in Ghostbur's house, about taking the spider eyes, about Ghostbur's disappearance, and about... about brewing the potion.

When he gets to that point, Tommy stops talking. He thinks he's said enough; Tubbo knows what happened next.

"Tommy," Tubbo says quietly. His voice is eerily calm, and when Tommy looks up at him, there's such a cool and collected fury in his face that it makes Tommy's blood run cold. Nevermind the day before his exile when Tubbo was telling him off; _this_ is the angriest he's ever seen Tubbo be. And he knows it's not directed at him this time, but he's... he's _scared_.

"Yeah?" Tommy manages.

"I'm going to fucking _kill_ Dream."

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr! [@echo-of-words](https://echo-of-words.tumblr.com) is my writing blog, [@song-of-echo](https://song-of-echo.tumblr.com/) my main :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! <3


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